


Indulgence

by fawsley



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Chocolate, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 16:05:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4528419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawsley/pseuds/fawsley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and chocolate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Indulgence

After he discovered the posh chocolate section in the new Waitrose on Marylebone High Street, Sherlock found it to be a bit of a very good idea to purchase multiple examples of each different flavour.

He hadn’t realized that chocolate came in such a varied range these days and it was important to sample them all in a rigorous scientific manner, making careful notes for future reference. You never know when a posh chocolate murder mystery is going to land on your doorstep and it’s only right and proper to be thoroughly prepared. 

Especially when John was away at a medical conference in The Hague for five whole days and Sherlock had, after all, promised to do his own shopping and eat properly.

By the time he’d got through two of each he’d pinned down the distinctive personality of every slab, given himself a dicky tummy, suspected he’d ODed on potassium and deduced who should be the recipient of which of the (far too many) remaining bars.

The dark with bitter orange, cinnamon and vanilla went to Mrs Hudson, a combination seemingly appropriately decadent for a former exotic dancer. Mrs H was thrilled to bits and gave Sherlock a hug and a kiss, which he didn’t mind that much, and a long story about the worst thing about living in America being the terrible you-can’t-really-call-it-chocolate they have over there. That he certainly could have done without. Yes, dear it really was even worse than being married to the appalling Mr Hudson, and thank you once again for your help in that particular little matter.

Mycroft got the lime and ginger, simply because Sherlock decided it was possibly the foulest tasting thing he’d ever encountered. Genuinely worse than those canned rotting herrings he’d had in Sweden, ten times more vile than that deliberately maggoty cheese from Sardinia, and infinitely more stomach-churning than his mother’s one and only attempt (Never again, Mummy, _never again_ ) at mousakka following an equally disastrous family holiday to Greece. As far as Sherlock was concerned, the chocolate tasted like floor cleaner, though he’d only tasted floor cleaner once before and ended up having to have his stomach pumped so he didn’t have much to go on. Mycroft found the chocolate to be both elegant and delicious and wondered where on earth his little brother’s generous streak had suddenly emerged from.

Lestrade got the bars with roasted almonds, Sherlock wasn’t sure why, it just seemed right somehow. The penny finally dropped after an astonished and speechless though very grateful Greg sat staring at him for a full ten minutes. Why had Sherlock never noticed Greg’s amazing eyes before? _Why?_

Blood orange for Molly. It seemed appropriate. But she also got some of the silly one with popping candy and the pretty one with dried strawberries and meringue pieces that was supposed to be like Eton Mess but most certainly was nothing like it at all. Because really, he owed Molly an awful lot and he was never ever going to be able to repay her fully. 

The strange but really rather wonderful sea salt and caramel for John. A contradictory combination that really shouldn’t work but absolutely positively utterly amazingly did. Sweet then salty, soft and yielding then hard and brittle. All wrapped up in a neat compact package. Appearances could be deceptive. Plus it reminded Sherlock of a certain white and brown and honey striped jumper. 

The rest of the chocolate Everest went to the homeless network, who made short work of it and never for a moment thought to question what on earth Sherlock was doing with so much of the stuff. It was, after all, nothing compared to that time when he turned up with that bloke with the mini-tanker full of fantastically good chicken soup. Never mind if it had been green. It had been fantastically good. And none of them had minded having a green tinge about the mouth for a few days afterwards. 

And Sherlock? He was very polite indeed about the incredibly large duty-free dark, white _and_ milk Toblerones John thrust at him on his return, and more than happy to let the good doctor pretty much polish them all off by himself. There was a large tub of bicarb in the kitchen ready and waiting for when dyspepsia finally struck.


End file.
